Class 
Book 




0G4-I!)<4- 



CopightlsL 

CjDFmiGHT DEPOSm 



^'L'Z. 



BECAUSE OF BEAUTY 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

POETRY 
HAIL, MAN ! 
FORWARD, MARCH ! 
THE HOUR HAS STRUCK 
UTTERANCE AND OTHER POEMS 
GOD PRAYS 



FICTION 
THE IMPRISONED SPLENDOR 



BECAUSE OF BEAUTY 



BY 
ANGELA MORGAN 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1922 






COPTEIGHT, 1922 

By DODD, mead AND COMPANY, Inc. 



PBINTBD IN U. S. A. 



ICI.A683961 



VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 

BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK 

NOV - 1 1922 



^ TO 



The Builders of the New World — 
This Book is Reverently Dedicated 



CONTENTS 

SECTION I 

BECAUSE OF BEAUTY 

Rose Fire 1 

To A Tree in June 2 

Moods 4 

Poplars in the Wind 6 

The Cactus Flower 8 

Cool as a Bird 9 

Wonder 11 

The End of the Feast 13 

A Milk-White Butterfly 14 

The Moon, a Red Sickle 16 

Sketches in White 17 

Hymn to December 18 

The Rain Has Made a Curtain 20 

Sudden a Sea Gull 22 

The Choirs of Spring 24 

To A Newly Planted Field at Night 25 



Listen! 27 

April Evening 29 

The Cleaving Power 30 

Water 32 

SECTION II 

LOVE 

Love's Bestowal 37 

Love, the Magician 39 

You Left Me Free 41 

Wishes at Dawn 42 

Lover's Moon 43 

A Man to a Woman 44 

Separation 46 

How Could I Know? 47 

Gifts 48 

To Those Who Love Him 49 

SECTION III 

THE CITY 

City Smoke 53 

The Skyscraper 55 

The Great Scenario 56 

Marigold Night 57 

Girls 58 



The CHAmoT of the Age 60 

To A Railroad Train at Night 62 

SECTION IV 

SONGS OF COURAGE 

The Luminous Heart 65 

To Madame Curie 66 

To Jane Addams 68 

Ancestry 69 

Overlord 71 

Pledges 73 

Life the Healer 75 

Science or Symphony? 77 

SECTION V 

YOUTH AND MAGIC 

The Idealist 83 

The Senses 84 

Songs of the Body 86 

The Wonder of Sleep 87 

Youth 88 

Where Stars Are Born 89 

Immanence 90 



SECTION VI 

HUMAN VERSES 

No One to Meet Him 93 

She Who Gave All 96 

To A Pair of Old Walking Shoes 97 

Memories 99 

The Face in the Mirror 100 

If Thou Had'st Faith 102 

Psycho-Analysis 103 

Afternoon Tea 105 

Violin . . . . ^ 107 

Personality 109 

The Inarticulate 110 

SECTION VII 

THE BUILDERS 

The Unknown Soldier 115 

Education 118 

Mastery 120 

The Doer 121 

Samson Has the Temple 124 

The Sculptor Speaks 125 

Behold the Builders! 128 



BECAUSE OF BEAUTY 



1 



ROSE FIRE 

Life is an acorn whose immortal tree 

Mounts in the sun beyond our measured sight. 

We, underground, believing what we see. 

Dream, in our ignorance, it still is night 

And hug our little shell, and drink the soil. 

While some there be who tell the Spring's advance, 

And some who sorrow with its tug and toil, 

And others yet who know as in a trance 

The rose fire of a world by us unseen, 

And sing of sunlight where no sunlight goes, 

And where no green is, prophesy the green, 

And where no rose can be, foretell the rose. 

let us fling to-day our folded powers 

And claim the eternal beauty that is ours ! 



[1] 



ij 



TO A TREE IN JUNE 

Spirit of Beauty embodied in this lovely tree. 

Behind whose winged emerald glory 

Billows of snowy clouds move ceaselessly, 

Hear my impassioned cry, my vow this day! . . . 

Huge flower of God, thy petals brush the doorstep of 

Heaven; 
Thy topmost plumes caress the lattices where angels 

wait; 
Thy last soaring leaf arrives the celestial gate. 
Beauty, thou hast penetrated my heart's core. 
Thou hast won me utterly, from this day forth 
And forevermore. 

Command my ways. Spirit of Beauty. . . . 
Give me the harshest task, the crudest duty; 



[2] 



Give me whips, that I may scourge ugliness from the 

mind of man. 
Give me a tongue, that I may cry it to the unhearing 

earth; 
Give me new wit, give me words of lilting mirth. 
Give me the grace to say a thousandth part of all thou 

sayest. . . . 

Beauty, in thy presence, I make once more my vow. 
I, even I, will tell of thee; 

1 will cry aloud, "Make straight the paths, make 

straight the way. 
For I have seen Beauty . . . have seen the Maker 
suddenly." 



[3] 



MOODS 

To-night 

To-night is like the heart of a black pansy, 
With spots of yellow — stars. 

I will lean my head upon that pillow of enchantment, 
And know the petalled loveliness of stars. 
I will sink deep into the hollow of a pansy-black 
night. 

Larkspur 

I have a r^ood like larkspur and bachelor buttons; 

I have a clean, blue-blossom mood this morning. 

Decorative, bright, colorful. 

Not like my damson days of rich enjoyment; 

Nor my softly-riding yesterday upon the river; 

Nor steel-blue, granite mornings that strike sparks from 

the will. 
Not like any other mood of morning, noon or twilight. 
Red rambler roses beckon me across the terraces; 
Tiger lilies, honeysuckle, peonies, call. 

[4] 



There is a red-bronze oak tree standing in burnished | 

beauty, ? 

And poppies, like pagan parasols, flaunting their scarlet, 

Almost irresistible. ' 

But I like my larkspur mood the best, to-day. 

I crave the tonic of blue delphinium, the candid look of 
cornflowers. 

Keen, colorful, a ministry to the mind. 

I will fill my mind and soul with satisfying blue. 

For I have a mood like larkspur and bachelor buttons — 

I have a clean, blue-blossom mood this morning. 

And all the crimson hues must wait! 



[5] 



POPLARS IN THE WIND 

They dreamed so long of all the flying things — 
Flying clouds, with opalescent wings; 
Flying birds, who had no fetters anywhere, 
All the enraptured creatures of the air — 
That, when the storm came sweeping down the sky. 
They lifted all their leaves with the one cry : 
"Now — now we shall fly!" 

And I, who saw them romping in high glee, 
Whose torn, mad banners boasted liberty. 
Said: "There is something here of wild adventure and 

delight. 
For trees are surely winged creatures poised for flight," 
And watched their revelry and almost seemed to see 
How every tossing branch was saying, "Free! Free!" 
Enchanted of the sky, each tree forgetting 
Its earthly setting. 

But in the rain-stilled quiet of the afternoon 
I passed again, and saw how all too soon 

[6] 



Their revelry had ended, and each stood 
Subdued and chastened by the rebuking wood. 
Each stared with wonder on the enduring ground. 
Where still their roots had anchor, firmly bound 
By laws that had no thought for yearning cries 
Or longing branches, straining toward the skies. 

Thinking of human poplars whom I knew. 
Musing, I said: "The same grim law holds true — 
People, like trees, reach out to claim the sky. 
Just to be free! Theirs, too, the same wild cry. 
Theirs, too, the dream of fetters cast away. 
Till comes the quiet of the revealing day. 
And lo ! rebuking laws whose roots are found 
Deeper than any tree that ties the ground. 
Sunk in the conscience of the human race, 
No frenzied wish may tear them from their place; 
No dream of any tree may lift it from the sod, 
No word of man may change the laws of God. 
By being faithful to their human bars 
Mortals and trees may tower to the stars." 



[7] 



^HE CACTUS FLOWER 

It stood upon its horny stalk, a blaze, an iridescence, 

A wonder-shape that softly seemed to flower 

Out of the dusty hour. 

Its petals poised as fine as fairyland 

Gave to the idle air a vivid motion, 

A stir, a scintillation ... a betraying 

Of rhythm beyond our sense. 

I felt, but could not touch, I saw but could not claim 

The intensity of that invisible flame. 

cactus bloom, for me you are a voice ; 
You have a Word made audible and sweet 
In radiance that quivers and is caught 
Back to itself, the while I dumbly stare 
To find the secret that has made you fair. 
You have a Word! You, risen to your own. 
Mounting affliction as an emerald throne. . . . 

1 hear you, cactus flower! 



[8] 



COOL AS A BIRD 



Cool as a bird would I be, 
Saved from the city's unrest. 
Dropping the world from my breast. 
Careless, enraptured and free. 

Cool as a bird would I fly, 
Far from the city's despair. 
Tasting the sweet of the sky, 
Tossed in the uttermost air. 

Heat is a hammer of brass; 
Earth is the anvil it beats. 
Parched are the roofs and the streets. 
Worn are the people that pass. 

Worn are the people who herd. 
Hot with the noise and the steam. 
Oh, to be off like a bird, 
Light as the fringe of a dream! 

[9] 



Oh to be rocked in a tree, 
Dark and delicious and still, 
Sipping the rain at my will — 
Thus like a bird would I be! 

Parched are the ways of mankind, 
Hot are the hatreds of men — 
God, won't you help us to find 
Coolness and comfort again? 



[10] 



WONDER 



What is clover? 

I ask it over and over. 

Lying adrift in a rhythm of red, 

The meadow's ocean about me spread, 

Washed by the surge of its sweet unrest. 

The wonder gathers within my breast. . . . 

What is clover? 

And what is honeysuckle? 
I ask it through the luscious day 
And through the deep entrancing night 
When perfume is as real as light. 
It almost makes me feel afraid 
To wonder how is fragrance made? 

I yearn to know what daisies are. 
It fascinates me as a star 
To look on petals fresh as day 
Along the meadow's Milky Way. 

[11] 



i 



Sorrel and daisies — ^what are these, 
And clover, visited by bees? 

Lying afloat in a scarlet sea, 
The earth has drifted from under me. 
The sky is purple upon my sight. 
Marbled softly with moving white. 
What is living? Immense, divine, 
Beyond your reasoning or mine! 



[12] 



THE END OF THE FEAST 

Day's feast is over, and his careless arm 

Shoves the remaining wine glass to the table's edge. . . . 

It wavers, topples to its crimson ruin, 

While a great stain spreads across the sky's pure damask. 



[13] 



i 



A MILK-WHITE BUTTERFLY 

A milk-white butterfly, with spotted wing, 

Poised on a purple thistle bud — a lovely thing! — 

Summoned my senses from their wandering; 

Drew, in a second's time, my gaze from everywhere 

To one ecstatic circle in the air. . . . 

Captured and held me, deified, enthralled, 

As if the angel Gabriel had called. 

Acres of softly undulating wheat 

Slow feathering beneath the August heat; 

Billows of meadow beauty, where the grass 

Reddened to see the youths and maidens pass; 

And golden rod . . . and golden rod! — 

That royal aspiration of the sod, 

The final utterance of all earth tries to say 

In one rich summer day. 

While over me the sky swung like a silver bell, 
Whose walls were azure winds that rose and fell, 
And mid-day sun was blazing on the sea 
014] 



Whose waters called and ever called to me. . . . 
Yet on that single point of pure perfection could 

I gaze 
As if it held the focus of Creation's rays. . . . 

milk-white butterfly with spotted wing 
'Tis you have told me everything! 

1 know, I know my dreams will all come true — 
butterfly, I fix my faith on you! 



[15] 



THE MOON, A RED SICKLE 

The moon, a red sickle, garners the ripe darkness 
Low on the horizon. 

To-night she will gather her harvest of grain. . . . 
Star upon star in her crescent of ruby will gather. 
I shall be lying asleep in the coolness of midnight, 
Dreaming of stars that drop in the indigo air; 
Dreaming of stars that are falling like wheat in the 

darkness. . . . 
Who shall say how the fragrance of stars shall seem? 
I shall be glad if the scent is as sweet as the meadow 
Where in the new mown grass I was resting at twilight; 
I shall be glad if the fragrance of stars is lovely as 

new mown grass. 



[16] 



SKETCHES IN WHITE 

Snow Sky 

A wall of white, wistfully still. 

Birds like fitful bowknots of black velvet 

Painted on porcelain while I wait, 

Forming and unforming to an unseen motif, 

Then suddenly withdrawn. 

As if the dissatisfied artist 

Tried this decoration and that. 

Leaving at last a blankness 

On the sufficient page. 

The Heart Untouched 

i 
I am cold and detached as crystal, .,| 

Holding within my being the passion of myriad ? f 

colors. 

Yet aware of none. 

When will the revealing torch of sunlight 

Pierce the whiteness 

And set my prismatic splendor free? 

[17] 



i 



HYMN TO DECEMBER 

Blow, splendid wind, across my day; 
Blow hard, blow bitter and unkind; 
Be rough, be ruthless on thy way. 
Sweep clean the forest of my mind. 

wind, no withered tree let stand! 
No sundered bough or futile vine. 
Like scattered leaves at thy command. 
My cares and whims and woes are thine. 

wind across the winter sun. 
Where crystal fires burn deep and cold. 
My spirit, too, would leap and run — 
My will as thine be fierce and bold. 

But thou art comrade to the sky, 
Unhindered is thine onward sweep. 
Thou hast no fetters such as I, 
No human paths of pain to keep. 

[18] 






li 



Blow, bitter wind till all my blood 
Sings high and sweet as birds in Spring. 
Bring thaw and rain and April flood, 
Bring leaf and bud and lifted wing. 

wind, blow on, nor let there be 
One cranny where thy force is not. 
Blow on, till every path is free 
And all but splendor is forgot! 



1^ 
it 



[19] 



THE RAIN HAS MADE A CURTAIN 

The rain has made a curtain 
Flung softly into view. 
The rain has made a lacey thing 
More lovely than we knew. 
Our window had no drapery 
Save want and work and pain, 
But oh, the gods have sent to us 
A curtain made of rain! 

I knew the dark was wonderful, 
I loved the taste of air — 
But oh I did not know the rain 
Could weave a thing so fair; 
That in a narrow frame like this 
On common glass unheeded 
Her dainty hands could spin a stuff 
So beautifully beaded, 

A web so frail with fairyland 
I dare not touch the glass — 
[20] 



I hold my breath and shade the lamp 
For fear the dream might pass. 



shrouded windows of the rich 
Behind your stiff brocade, 

1 wish your owners all might look 
Before the patterns fade. 

I wish your sudden eyes could see 
God's breath upon the pane. . . . 
As when the dark has brought to us 
A curtain made of rain! 



i! 



[21] 



i 



SUDDEN A SEA GULL 



A sky like thin blue milk, 

The Palisades mist covered; 

Waters like frozen silk 

Where vivid sails once hovered. 

The sun's face dimly seen 

Like woman's through her veiling, 

A breath of air less keen 

Than Winter wailing. 

Sudden above the stark 

And iron banded river. 

Moving amid the dark 

I see a something quiver. . . . 

As if an icy bar 

Should break itself and fling 

A severed portion far 

On crystal wing. . . . 



As if a snow bank, swift 
To answer the sun's crying, 
[22] 



Had tried in vain to lift 

Her heaviness to flying, 

So sent to him instead 

Her winged heart as token. 

Ah Love, look overhead y 

The Spring has spoken! 



[23] 



i 



THE CHOIRS OF SPRING 

In all the Spring there is no sweeter stir 

Than waking green of larch and juniper, 

Nor is there lovlier music anywhere 

Than when the birches hang their leafy halos in the 

air. 
March blows the doors of earth's cathedral wide, 
And brings her surpliced choirs of singing rain. 
That patient multitudes may surge inside, 
Out of the winter's pain. 

Spring's incandescence makes the meadows bright 
With lamps enough to keep earth's altars white; 
And the cold penitence of February sod 
Is swung by April's censers up to God. 



[24] 



n 



TO A NEWLY PLANTED FIELD AT NIGHT 

Something is stirring here, 
Under the moth- gray sky, 
Nursed hy the April air 
Miracles hover nigh. 
Acres of quiet soil 
Breathing with lungs unseen 
Answer our human toil 
With promises of green. 

Something is stirring here, 

Silent and slow and deep. 

Almost I think I hear 

How tiny roots may creep 

And small seeds grow. 

Something has happened here. . . . 

I, too, am torn awake; 



[25] 



I 



All that I held as dear 
Reborn for beauty's sake. 
Up from the earth a sigh, 
Deep in the heart a thrill. . 
Life, hear thou tou my cry: 
"I will, I will!" 



[26] 



1 



LISTEN! 



The wedded earth wheels round the sun, 

The sun transfigures all the earth; 

Comes March to tell us Spring's begun, 

Comes June to give the roses birth — 

And all is done with melody! 

With melody it all transpires. 

We do not hear 

With inner ear, 

We do not see the flaming choirs. 

We see the sodden field and marsh; 
The stony hill, the dreary round; 
The task is long, the lesson harsh, 
The street is clamorous with sound 
The shriek, the roar, the clanging bell. 
The traffic of the crowded ways 
Shatter the silk of April days. 
We do not know that all is well. 
Nor hear the organ undertone 
That blends all threnodies in one. 
[27] 



Yet all is done with melody, 
With melody the year begins. 
A heavenly harmony that spins 
Its web of rapture round the stars, 
Gathers the earth within its bars, 
And hununing, humming, rich and low, 
Follows the rumbling trains that go. 
And sings within the engine's throat. 
Melting to music every note. 

Some night, when you are thrilled awake 

By silences that throb and fall. 

Or in the day time, best of all, 

When you are hushed for beauty's sake — 

Lo, humming, humming everywhere 

Under the rails and in the air 

Your ear may hear the strains that start, 

Upwelling from the Creator's heart. 



[28] 



I 



APRIL EVENING 

The rim of the ruby colored sun quietly disappears. 
Now an intense pause, pierced by the sleighbell chorus 

of frogs; 
The chirping and gurgling and singing 
Of myriad frogs in the marshes. 
The passionate song of frogs across the cold perfmne 
Of early grass and newly furrowed sod. 
Forsythia blooms strive with their yellow 
To put out the dark. 

A curved crystal blade cuts the velvet of clouds, 
And oh, riding a black billow. . . . 
Venus, resplendent, immortal! 



[29] 



i 



THE CLEAVING POWER 

A bit of lichen, growing on a rock, may in the end 

Its granite substance rend. 

A bit of moss. 

Airy as angel floss, 

May draw the moisture and the fructifying earth 

To give the forest birth. 

"See," said the geologist, "on every side 

Is seen the record of the glacier's stride; 

How all this rugged and amazing land 

Is written deeply by the historic hand 

Of grinding ice or overleaping fire. 

Yet, so seductive is the faint desire 

Of tiny lichen, fastened upon stone. 

That even these frail tentacles, alone — 

Fingers of lace that beckon day by day — 

May draw the force that bids the rock give way. 

Causing the hemlock and the pine to spring 

Where long ago there was no growing thing." 

"How can it be," I mused, "that lichen is a blade 
[30] 



Cutting a path through rocks the centuries have 

made?" 
He told it clear. . . . 
How moisture, year by year 
Held by the lichen, freezes into force, 
Becomes a wedge of power in its course. 
And soil drops down within the fissure's close 

embrace, 
And seed finds welcome in that sheltered place. 
And I, who listened to the lesson of the rock, 
Felt my whole being waken to the shock, 
While some obscuring bar within my soul gave way 
Making a wider crevice for the day. . . . 

What if a thought — a tiny, lichen thought — 
Should rend the ills the centuries have wrought; 
What if the power of persistent Will 
Should cleave its way as water does, until 
Throughout the solid ramparts of the night 
A crevice shows the coming in of Light! 



[31] 



i 



WATER 

Wonderful water! You are a splendor and a perplexity 

together. . . . 
Fluid immortal made common for the use of man. 
I see you spurting white and slender from the faucet in 

my kitchen; 
I hear you sharp and sudden at my window, 
Your needles broken against the resisting glass. 
I see you driving through the roads and pavements, 
While dust lies down in reverence before you. 
I find you hoarded in the cups of morning glories ; 
You are quicksilver on the puckered green of maple leaves, 
Fresh and delightful after storm. 

I see you bearing up the graceful bodies of strong 

swimmers, 
Yet in that hour you drown a hundred men at sea. 
You span with loveliness the tall doorway of Heaven, 
Holding suspended the passion of the sun. 
I find you flashing from a million coronets 
Within the sublime democracy of the meadow. 

[32] 



Water, you are a marvel of the Creator's genius — 
My eyes would measure and behold your beauty! 

Oh, you are slim and sinuous, 

You are seductive, water — you are very fair. 

Curling your happy way across the continent, 

Leaping all barriers with laughing courage. 

Shaking your tresses out upon the rocky hillside. 

Fringing a beaded robe to hide your nakedness. . . . 

You are a woman, water — 

One whose entrancing ways my heart should understand. 

Nay, you are more than woman — you are Niagara, 
Urging your steeds to goals of danger and despair. 
I see their white manes flowing down the mountain 

fastnesses, 
I hear the trampling of their hoofs, their thunder; 
I see them pitiless upon the frantic ocean. 
Where giant ships like petals are whirling in the gale. 
you are mighty in your majesty and strength, water! 
You are a devastation and a sustenance in one. 

Unconquered, you are a devil, you are a wanton. 

Tamed and adored, you are a necklace round the throat 

of Nature, 
You are Niagara, chained and attentive to the word of 

man. 

[33] 



I 



How can you be so huge a thing and yet so tiny? 
How can you be so black and terrible upon the ocean, 
Yet tremble like a tear drop on the rose within my hand? 



[34] 



11 

LOVE 



LOVE'S BESTOWAL 

What shall my love be to the world? 

What shall my love, thwarted in its beginning, 

Be to the desert world? 

Shall I lie in the smothering sand all day 

Crying, "Woe is me?" 

Shall I cover my body and soul with sand? 

Shall I wail as others wail under the brassy sky, 

"No God, no love, nor rescue anywhere?" 

Nay, I shall never basely say, "There is no God!" 

Under the lovely desert stars I shall not dare deny; 

Under the cooling stars I am too brave to die. 

I, who have tasted water, shall not faint nor rest 

Till I again have found that ecstacy. 

I, who have tasted water know that God is good. 

And I shall gird my soul and lift my heart. 

Singing the Truth amid the desert waste. ]\ 

Yea, I have loved ! And that one crystal drink 
Beckons beyond the parched and prostrate hour. 
I shall not cease nor tarry till the world 
[37] 



Drinks of the same divine, enchanted stream, 

Nor till that cool delirium has spread 

Its saving waters over all the earth 

I shall not courage yield. 

I, who have touched the lips of Life, shall never rest 

Till all the desert lives. 

I, who have seen the blossom and the bird, may 

never tire 
Until the desert blooms! 



[38] 



LOVE, THE MAGICIAN 

I have been multiplied a thousand times. 

I have been strangely multiplied and made over; 

My heart's cathedral hears a myriad chimes 

In the one voice of my lover. 

Eyes am I given, of many-orbed intent. 

Since sight and hearing with his own are blent. 

For where before two beings stood beneath the sun 

There dwells but one. 

I have been multiplied a million ways 
To meet the new-born glory of my lover. 
My life, that was a timid candle blaze, 
Bloweth the whole world over. 
No mad magician ever spun so sweet a spell 
As the Elysium in which we dwell. 
Dearest, my life was as a single stream 
Going its way within the forest cover. 
With no companion save the lonely Dream — 
Until you came, my lover! 
You came, and miracle on miracle repeating 

[39] 



Joined us with other streams that sped the more, 
Till all the waters of the world were beating 
At our hearts' door. 

Dear, can it be that we, in loving, find the ocean 
Where plunge the human heart-streams in their 

course, 
Pouring through all Eternity their great devotion, 
Each in the other finding the One Source? 



[40] 



YOU LEFT ME FREE 

You left me free, nor asked that there should be 

One word to heal your heart's intensity; 

Nor kiss nor vow you took, who worshipped me 

As strong crusaders worship Deity. 

You left me free — ah, would your hands had found 

A hundred ways to hold me tightly bound! 

You left me free — dearest, could there be 

A chain more cruel than your cold decree, 

A sadder bondage than is left to me, 

The utter slave of love's futility? 

You left me free, nor knew that I should go 

The fettered path the single-hearted know! 

You left me free of all your hidden sighs, 
Held back the leaping answer in your eyes: 
You masked your longing with a strange disguise, 
You closed the gleaming door of Paradise. . . . 
And yet no wedded soul more wed could be 
Than I to you whose word would set me free. 

[41] 



\ 



WISHES AT DAWN 



I made three wishes, as I stood 
Staring upon the roofs at dawn. 
The freshened air was faintly good 
And stirred the curtains, gently drawn; 
And stirred my lonely spirit, too, 
Thrilling me as it used to do. 

I made three wishes, like a song. 
And gazed upon the dawn outspread. 
I wished you to be great and strong, 
I prayed you would be comforted. 
The red sun rose upon the roofs. 
Clattered the sound of waking hoofs. 

I said : "No matter whose the hand 
That heals his wound and gives him rest 
I love him, and shall understand. 
The fate that severs us is best." 
I made three wishes — God must know 
My heart's capacity for woe! 
[42] 



LOVER'S MOON 



The moon unfolded like a rose, 
Above a sea of malachite. 
Oh, softly came the moon to-night 
As faintly as a bud that blows. 

The moon unfolded, flushed and sweet- 
My startled spirit cried your name — 
Her heart was yellow as a flame. 
I wonder did you hear it beat? 
I wonder could you hear my cry? 
Oh lovely is a moon that glows 
Above the darkness like a rose 
And sheds her petals for reply. 



[43] 



I 



A MAN TO A WOMAN 

And you shall walk with other loves 

Because I left you free ; 

Of other souls shall take your fill 

Who loved the soul of me. 

And you shall have your feast with those 

Who never saw my face. . . . 

And yet beside you at the board 

My heart shall have its place. 

And though you seek for Arcady 

Where once you sought for me, 

And though with others you may share 

Our Paradisal tree, 

So greatly doth your spirit hold 

My being in its spell, 

That he whose word shall comfort you 

Shall comfort me as well. 

In other climes and other years 
Beyond the alluring sea, 
[44] 



Oh you shall go your wilful way ,' 

Who might have gone with me. J 

And you shall give to other loves \ 

What you to me denied, 

And you shall call him what you will 

Who dwelleth by your side. . . . 

So deeply hath my spirit claimed 

Its old captivity, J 

That he who clasps the form of you 

Shall hold the heart of me. 

With other friends the future years ^ 

Your cycle shall fulfil, 

Yet I who stand from you apart. . . . 

I am your lover still! 



[45] 



SEPARATION 

Why should the days be sun-caressed and sweet, 

Without you, dear? 

Why should winds woo the grasses at my feet 

And you not here? 

Why should the hours be shaken through with song; 

Why should the sky and sea rejoice the whole day 

long 
Unless your eyes can look and love it too, 
As my eyes do? 



[46] 



HOW COULD I KNOW? 

How could I know that this, which meant to me 

My going forth into Infinity, 

Flesh left behind and selfishness forgot, 

Love but the shining sea where sin is not, 

Life but an ocean luminous and vast 

In which our separate spirits merged at last. . . . 

How could I know that love, which meant to me 
Beauty and light and sheer divinity, 
Should mean the doom of your aspiring soul. 
The flood that swept your being from its goal; 
That like a strong armed swimmer you would take 
The cruel course, for love and duty's sake ; 
Nor looking back across the enchanting sea 

Would strike your path alone, away from me! ( 

1 



[47] 



GIFTS 



Give daisies to my thoughts and let them play 
Like children dancing on the green in May. 
Give tulips to my hopes and let them stand 
Like crimson courage in a bitter land. 

Give wings unto my grief, that it may fly 
A bird of beauty in the morning sky. . . . 
Oh give the lie to all my petty ills, 
And to my somber moments, daff'odils. 

Give roses for my doubt, and for my pain 
Give hyacinths upcurling in the rain. 
Give roots unto my dreams and let them grow 
So deep in earth, I may not let them go. 

Give harvest to my toil in sheaves of gold, 
Bring fire unto my hearth in winter cold. 
But to my love, no human offering. . . . 
For love is fire, and faith, and hope, and Spring! 

[48] 



TO THOSE WHO LOVED HIM 

(A Wife Speaks of Her Former Rivals) 

I am sorry for my sister women — 

Those who loved but could not have my dearest. 

Their wan looks tell how they have pined for him. 

It pierces me to see his beauty 

And know that they forever 

Must go unsatisfied. 

They seem like me; they are indeed 

As I when I yearned and could not see him. 

They are my selves, my other selves, 

Himgering and thirsting for what life would not give. 

I look on them in pity, encompassing, understanding. 
I look on them with sympathy, deep, full bosomed, 
Suffering as a mother suffers 
In the grief of her children. 

sisters, he is love embodied, and you have loved him — 
Such is the grief of earth. 
And I who live within his dailv presence, 

[49] 



I who drink and drink till I am drenched with happiness 
As earth is drenched with the radiant certainty of God — 

I look on you and yearn above you. 
sisters, seek your own loves, 
Find for yourselves the complement 
Of heart and mind and being, 
For life is without form and void 
Till Love's creative word. 



[50] 



Ill 

THE CITY 



CITY SMOKE 



How beautiful is smoke that breathes 
Above the city's brawl, 
And like a fairy lady wreathes 
Her scarf upon the wall. 

How strange a heart is hers, who then 
Dissolving into space 
Bequeaths unto the eyes of men 
No knowledge of her face. 

How lovely is her chariot 
Whose steeds are never heard. 
So eerily they move across 
The far path of the bird. 

I think she hath but little care 
For noisy pangs of earth; 
For chimneys or for engines where 
Her loveliness had birth. 

[53] 



And can it be such ugly things 
Begot this butterfly? 
city, you have angel's wings; 
Maker, so have I! 



[54] 



THE SKYSCRAPER 

Beautiful ship, striding a ceaseless ocean. 
Borne on the crest of the turbulent human tide. 
Flying your flag in the wind of the city's emotion — 
Beautiful ship of the town, how tall you ride! 

Magical ship, with wind-borne clouds behind you, 
Fleece of the sky foaming against your prow. 
Never before has my vision chanced to find you 
Mightily moving against the day as now. 

Never before have I caught your soul resplendent 
Flying above the city's dark and noise; 
Never before have I seen your bulk transcendent 
Flowing the turgid wave with heavenly poise. 

Wonderful ship on the seas of commerce riding, 
Here's to your goal and the triumph of coming in! 
These are the hearts of America you're striding, 
These are the goals of America you win. 



[55] 



THE GREAT SCENARIO 

Manhattan — At Times Square 

Here is the huge confession brightly spelled — 
Man's wild antipathy to solitude; 
The sight of spaces and of stars withheld, 
That Babylon may house her fevered brood. 

Manhattan, 0, Manhattan, more and more 
The ancient dream of fellowship comes true. 
As through your streets the myriad nations pour. 
Their hopes, their dreams, their faith belong to you. 

Here is the thirst for pleasure sharp and sweet, 
Man's cluttered craving blotting out the sun; 
The stream of presences, the rain of feet, 
A thousand feelings flooding into one. 

Manhattan, you are filmed across the dark, 
Of great scenarios the most commanding; 
I wonder if the gods behold your spark. . . . 
And does a city beckon to their understanding? 

[56] 



MARIGOLD NIGHT 

(City Streets on a Rainy Evening) 

Marigold night, running mellow and mellow. 
Tempting my feet with your sumptuous yellow, 
Marigold street with your riotous bloom, 
Almost I smell your enticing perfume. 
Loving each star on its shadowy stalk, 
On through your luminous gardens I walk. 
Treading your flowers, unhurt they remain, 
Blooming afresh in the beauty of rain. 



[57] ■ 



GIRLS 

Pretty, twinkling girls, 

Blowing along Fifth Avenue, 

I like you. I am cheered by you. 

Of you I heartily approve. 

You are like sudden flowers in a dark canyon — 

Starring the gloom with color and delight. 

Each delicate face on a fragile stem, 

Framed for bewitchment and surprise. 

A little breeze sets all your leaves fluttering; 

A radiance flashes out of you; 

Each slender step is like a sunbeam, 

Shining because it must. 

Man made the canyon, but God made flowers. 

What is the Power that makes you as you are — 

Bright-blowing, beautiful girls? 

Glittering, gorgeous girls, 
Dancing along Broadway, 
What is the urs^e that makes you as you are — 
Brilliant, challenging, restless, feverish, 

[58] 



Every glance a thrust of fate, 

Every pulse a cry for Fame and Power and Splendor — 
You are insatiable flame, you are burning winds 
Blowing across the town. 

Daring, courageous maidens, 

Trudging along Sixth Avenue, 

Little workers from big families, 

Toilers brave in the boisterous, uncaring town — 

Out of the crowded and smothered conditions of home. 

How have you come? 

Tell me the secret, dear little girl with the buckle, the 

wing and the rose — 
Cramming your hat box under the bed at night; 
Washing and pressing and sewing when others are 

sleeping; 
Folding away your ribbons and girdles and ties — 
Sweet Cinderella, guarding your glittering shoes — 
I will sing of you, I will sing a song just for you — 
Wonderful, wonderful girls! 



[59] 



THE CHARIOT OF THE AGE 

I am a Purpose powerful and swift, 

The uttered Longing of the human race, 

The spoken Struggle of the Mind 

Triumphant over space. 

I am the Will of yesterday to lift 

The burdens of to-day from all mankind. 

I am the Dream of toilers at the loom, 

Hope of the surging multitude of men 

Prisoned within the sordid city's gloom. . . . 

I am the Vision shining in their den, 

Bearing the worn and fretted souls, Aladdin-wise 

To fairy hills and blossoming blue skies. 

In the red hours of sudden mortal grief 
I am the speeding angel of relief. 
Swift as an arrow from the bow is sent, 
I am His messenger, on mercy bent. . . . 
I am His lightning, I am His steed 
To answer human need. 

[60] 



^dm 



I am the panting engine of the heart; 
The energy of every part 
Made visible at last; I am the thrill, 
The spur and splendor of the human will, 

I am the Soul of man unfettered from its ca| 
I am the chariot of the golden age. 



[61] 



TO A RAILROAD TRAIN AT NIGHT 

Train, with your long white feather flying in the moon- 
glow, 
You are young love, keeping its tryst with delight. 
You are rapture, speeding across the night. 
Train, with your pulses pounding, 
You are ambition, radiant, resounding. 
You are the shout of the soul's first divination. 
The heart's great acclamation. 
Pushing ahead to the teeming town's fruition. 
You are the harnessed will, the piercing intuition. 
Sparks from your passion painting the midnight sky. 
Looking neither to right nor left as you race by. . . . 



You are the Great Adventurer flying to greet the day. 
You are the mind's electric purpose trained to the narrow 

way; 
You are determination, ardent, single-hearted. 
Seeing no track but yours, no other goal, no turning. . . . 
Train, with your headlight burning. 
You are human yearning! 

[62] 



IV 

SONGS OF COURAGE 



THE LUMINOUS HEART 

The heart more luminous than dawn denies 
The slanders love hath borne for mortal sake; 
Her gaze is wider than the earth's mistake, 
She flieth higher than an eagle flies. 
Yet naught of love is hidden from her eyes — 
She knoweth all who sleep and all who wake; 
Upon her breast the hues of morning break 
To spell the immortal secret of the wise. 
That golden word of the eternities 
No human law may find, no net may snare; 
No creeping thought may gather what it is, 
For only that which climbeth the blue air, 
The heart more luminous than any dawn. 
Loves and transfigures what it looks upon. 



[65] 



TO MADAME CURIE 

How great her travail, who went forth to find 
Out of creation's void, the hidden spark; 
The glowing substance that would heal mankind. 
The light elusive, springing from the dark. 

How beautiful her ardor, to explore 
Those mighty boundaries that yield no rest. 
How patient was the brooding love that bore 
The splendor of the burden at her breast. 

How true to love was she, who yielded all — 
The rich and subtle purpose of her brain; 
Her heart, her soul, her body, to the call, 
And paid the price immortal, for our gain. 

Down in the darkness of creation's womb 
How long, how long the enchanted secret lay. 
Until the hand of science from the tomb 
Brought forth her child into the light of day. 



[66] 



Here is the clue to that colossal theme 
Spreading its clamor through our seething 

days — 
May she who stands as motherhood supreme 
Nurture humanity in larger ways? 

May she whose agony has brought to birth 
The miracle of daughter or of son 
Bear other miracles, of noble worth — 
May woman do for earth what man has done? 

Mother of light, you answer well their quest 
Who fought for woman's liberty, and died. 
In you, how greatly is their dream confessed. 
It is enough! Our age is satisfied. 



[67] 



TO JANE ADDAMS 

Gazing upon a lofty mountain range 

Where dome on dome of splendor seemed to rise, 

Each like a challenge beautiful and strange 

Of some fair temple painted on the skies, 

I pondered who among the nobly good 

Will rise against the canvas of all time; 

From out the host of earth's misunderstood, 

Whose name shall ring as a cathedral chime? 

Whose are the deeds so lofty and so pure 

No pinnacle may match their silver height? 

Whose is the majesty that shall endure 

Amid the immensities of future light? 

You who have mourned the saving Christ as dead, 

Behold Him risen in her heart instead! 



[68] 



'ANCESTRY" 

(Song of the Liberated Man) 

Courage is my Progenitor, 

My source the Primal Will, 

My chariot the shining globe 

That whirls beneath me still. 

The North Star and the Polar Sea 

Whispered and dreamed and thought of me- 

The Gulf Stream said that I should be. 

The Pleiades have mothered me 

And held me on their breast; 

The Four Winds welcomed me from South 

And North and East and West. 

The great hills of the ruddy earth 

Did leap to celebrate my worth — 

The laughing rivers hailed my birth. 

Go, seek your lineage, who must! 
Your ancient parchments find; 
[69] 



No royal crest can give to man 
What dwelleth not in mind. 
The forests know my family tree, 
The splendor and austerity 
Of Him who hath begotten me. 
My Father is the Universe, 
The heart of Life, my mother. 
And God Himself my Ancestor. . . 
I need no other! 



[70] 



OVERLORD 



I use each grief that comes to me. 
Once was a time I seemed to be 
By sorrow smitten as a spear. 
Each javelin of want or fear 
Made holes within my heart and drew 
My shuddering spirit naked, through. 

But now I know I stand apart 
From brain and body, mind and heart; 
That never has my being felt 
The blows by cold misfortune dealt. 
The javelin that pierced me through, 
The hate of foes, I never knew. 
Back of the body's grief I stood 
And out of evil fashioned good. 

Back of the body, strong, secure, 
The Self was destined to endure. 
The Self that makes of pain a lyre. 
And when the straining muscles tire 
[71] 



Touches the strings of circumstance, 
Makes music of their dissonance. 

This is the living Self of me, 
In spite of what I seem to be. 
I, the musician, strike the chord 
That makes me sorrow's overlord. 
Oh, once upon a time, I thought 
I could not bear what sorrow brought; 
But now, grief, your sting has gone. 
You are the good I looked upon! 



[72] 



PLEDGES 

One Speaks 

Life is so hard! 

I lean against its granite ledges 

And wonder when the dawn will be; 

I hurt my heart against its pledges, 

Broken ceaselessly. 

How can Life vaunt itself a name, 

How can Life call itself so good 

That gives me cold instead of flame, 

And stone instead of food? 

Another Speaks 

Life is so fair! 

I scarce can keep from singing 
As on its bitter edge I whet my wilL 
sparks of beauty from the granite springing, 
flame that answers still! 
Life's pledges, broken to my narrow sense 
[73] 



Are all fulfilled in ways I yet shall see; 

I shall behold that wider evidence 

When I have kept the pledge Life asks of me! 



[74] 



LIFE THE HEALER 

Life, the lover, yearning above us while we sleep, 
Cries in our ears, "Take — take — it is yours to keep!" 
Pours in our veins her own reviving red, 
Pillows upon her breast the ailing head. 
Life, the healer, cries as a lover cries. 
Breathing above the pallid lips and weary eyes : 
"Only believe — behold me warm and true! 
Only believe the love I have for you." 

Life, the mother, sings to her children while they sleep; 
"Take, take of my love! It is yours to keep." 
Bends to our breathing, hushes the fretful moan. 
Tenderly turns the haggard face to her own; 
Speaks to the tangles knotted by human will — 
Cords and tendons and nerves that obey her skill — 
Smooths with her satin palm, her velvet word. 
Utters the crooning sound no ear has heard: 
"Oh, I have loved you all with a love past knowing! 
See how my sacred fire to your need is flowing." 



[75] 



Then through our nerves her voltage of liquid flame. . . . 
"Take, take for your own what none have dared to name. 
Even the wise have never yet explored 
Founts everlasting whence my stream is poured." 
Life, the healer, tries as a mother tries. . . . 
"Only believe me! Look — look in my eyes! 
Oh, could you search my heart and believe the truth, 
Life the healer would bring you immortal youth!" 



[76] 



SCIENCE OR SYMPHONY? 

They told me an ape had been the founder of my being, 

Dragged me along the evolutionary track, 

Plunged me in primal ooze, with not an eye for seeing. 

Clean to the single cell they took me back. 

Strange how revolt against the creeds of hell 

Yields no answer but the single cell! 

Strange how we narrow to a clump of sod 

The most high purpose of the living God! 

But I went to the symphony to hear what Schumann 

said, 
I went to the symphony and lifted up my head. 

Label it the functioning of brute desire, 

Mark it in your catalogues by whatsoever name — 

Violins in unison climbed a hill of fire 

And drew me ever after them in filaments of flame; 

Drew me in an ecstasy immaculate and thin 

Till I myself was streaming with the streaming violin. 



[77] 



Whence came the melody that smote me into rapture? 
Whence came the ecstasy that bathed me silver bright? 
How shall you catalogue and how shall you capture 
Beauty out of Paradise showering in light? 
Say, did it travel through the dark with man, 
Cycle after cycle? Answer if you can! 
Say, did it slumber in primeval slime. 
Slowly emerging through the growths of time? 
This will I grant you of my human tabernacle, 
This will I grant you of the sinew and the bone, 
Ligament and artery and cords that cannot shackle, 
Serving for a little space the mind upon its throne. . . . 
But I went to hear a logic that was not to be gainsaid — 
I barkened to the symphony and lifted up my head. 

Whence came the harmony that tore my frame asunder. 
Knocked upon the cloister door where flesh and blood 

are not, 
Freed me from my prison house with tonal waves of 

thunder. 
Shook me from the body till the body was forgot? 
I was a cataract bursting into glory — 
(Say it of my frame that it was once that humble 

thing—) 
But I who heard the symphony was told another story, 
I was a cataract come to greet the Spring. 



[78] 



I rill I ■iirimii 



I was the thunder, and the music and the splendor, 
I was the love of God immutable and tender, 
I was the universe and touched its farthest rim, 
I was Creator and the souls that worship Him. 
I was humanity with all its doubting past, 
I was humanity that knew itself at last — 
For I went to hear Tchaikovsky in his symphony super- 
nal, 
I listened to a logic that was not to be gainsaid. 
And I know that the soul of a man is eternal, 
I know that a man lives on, after he is dead ! 



[79] 



YOUTH AND MAGIC 



THE IDEALIST 

This much, realist, would I explain to you: 
I never saw the world as others do. . . . 
It hung suspended in a burning haze, 
A mad bewitchment running through my days. 

And you who follow me with eyes of mirth 

For what my soul must sing of this dull earth. 

Crying, "Awake! Be mortal and not saint. 

Lest through ethereal joy the body faint.". . . 

To you and such as you, I only say 

There never was, for me, a "common day." 

My sky is firmer than the solid land. 

Come! Dream with me, and you will understand. 



[83] 



THE SENSES 



How wonderful is sight that brings 

With every turning of the eye 

A universe of lovely things 

That swarm the earth and gem the sky. 

How delicate and keenly good 

The powers that would help us make 

The daily ritual of food 

A feast in which the gods partake. 

The "common senses!" What are they 
But doors that let the spirit through 
To find and touch our yielding clay 
And fashion as it wills to do? 

I wish that he who grimly prays 
For sinful souls to find their doom 
Would walk abroad on April days 
Or smell the orchard boughs in bloom. 

[84] 



I wish that he who talks of "sense" 
As if it were an evil thing, 
Would take the hearing's evidence 
When meadow larks begin to sing. 



[85] 



SONGS OF THE BODY 

Morning 

The sound of the water on my shoulders in the morning, 

It is like silver bells out of blue. 

The thrill of the water on my body in the morning 

Gives courage great and new. 

The cold of the water, the sting of the water. 

The mirth of the w^ater as it leaps to find me. . . . 

Oh, it is lovelier than birds singing 

Clear in the morning. 

Oh, it is beautiful as laughing bells ! 

Noon 

My body is the lightning rod of my spirit. 
And I honor it as such. 

I do not worship it, nor deem it greater than myself. 
I do not confuse it with myself. 
Which towers over it like iridescent fire. 
Pour down upon me, Spirit of Eternal Energy 
And make my body luminous and fit for God! 

[86] 



THE WONDER OF SLEEP 

How wonderful to drink the dark sea wave 

That sucks me under, drowning me to save! — 

My diving-board the pillow, whence I spring. 

Exultant as a swimmer who shall fling 

Body and being in that final leap 

To search the immortal treasure-caves of sleep. 

How diff'erent from death this drowning is; 
How quick with life these green immensities. 
These airs electric, bursting bubble-fine; 
This sharpened sense of beauty that is mine, 
This whirlpool of rejoicing where I spin, 
A disembodied rapture. 

Then such a silence as no mortal hears. 
The deafness of the sea within my ears; 
Then such a summons as the swimmer knows 
As up and up through thinning wave he goes. . . . 
And I, a being sleep-refreshed and thrilled 
Wake from an ocean coral cave to find 
The dawn light streaming through my window blind! 
[87] 



YOUTH 



By the shapes that surge in the formless blue, 
By the crags that sentry the shore with strength, 
I shall be brave to compass you, 

Life, Love! Down all the length 
Of doubt and terror and hope and prayer 

1 shall be bold and great as air. 
What if they failed who came before? 
What if they died whose faith was high? 
My spirit stands at a new-swung door 
And God is God, and I am I! 

I will compass you! I will conquer you. 

Mystery by my vision spanned. 

The dark shall yield when I pass through, 

Eternity in my hand. 

I will search above, I will pierce beneath, 

I will strip the universe of its sheath. 

What if they fell who sought for Truth? 

What if they drank the dregs of pain? 

I am the Voice of dauntless Youth — 

I am their Quest, come back again! 

[88] 



WHERE STARS ARE BORN 

I went to the place last night where stars are born, 
Opening soft and still like tender com, 
Held on the slender stalk of the quiet morn. 

Folded close in clouds like little pearls asleep 
The tiny seedling stars were clustered deep — 
And oh, I prayed that God the baby stars would 
keep! 

I saw them through their blue transparent 

sheathing — 
It almost seemed I heard them softly breathing. 
Their sweetness to the lovely dawn bequeathing. 

Far in the wide plantations of the azure air 
It seemed to me I climbed a silver stair. . . . 

And then I saw that birth is very fair. 
Oh, it was wonderful to see them growing 
There in the garden of an angel's sowing. . . . 
And now I am so happy, happy — ^knowing! 
[89] 



IMMANENCE 

The flavor of God comes pouring from everything — 
Plums and oranges, apples and grapes and dew; 
The justice of God is felt in the briar's sting, 
And bees, molested, may tell of His justice, too. 

The courage of God comes up with the mounting sun. 
His pity sounds in the dripping of crystal rain; 
He blooms in the petalled w^est when day is done, 
Under the dark he fathers the fields of grain. 

The splendor of God cries out in the souls of men; 
His ardor leaps in the hearts of the sore opprest. 
You who have prayed for the coming of Christ again, 
Lo, He is here in the pulse of the people's breast! 

Lo, He is here! And the eyes of the blind shall see. 
Lo, He is here! And the lips of the dumb shall 

speak. 
You who would find your Lord in the life to be. 
Look! In the heart of the race is the God you seek. 

[90] 



VI 

HUMAN VERSES 



J 



NO ONE TO MEET HIM 

Like a wild sea of bobbing hats and faces, 

The holiday mob surged over the station floors, 
flooded the corridors. 

Seethed and foamed at the ticket booths and infor- 
mation windows. 

How I first noticed him, I scarcely know . . . per- 
haps it was his khaki. 

Conspicuous now amid civilian suits once again fa- 
miliar. 

Perhaps it was the lonely look he had, standing apart 
and waiting. 

Staring across the turgid human ocean, hoping for 
something that had not happened yet. 

Then, in the tossing crowd, I lost him, and felt a 

pang- 
As if some tragedy lurked near me, and in this vivid 
stream 

I felt the sudden pressure of its tide against my heart. 

Oh, we are all one stream — one living, palpitating 
stream — 

[93] 



And what one soul is feeling, washes in waves upon 
another soul, sometimes. 

But then — to-day was not a day for sorry moods or 

f ancfies ! 
This was a day of flags and cheers and lusty celebra- 
tion. 
This was the nation's day of independence, 
The family's day of freedom and glad reunion. 
Every^vhere, friends! Everywhere, joyful and warm 

assurance. 
The hearty clasp of hand in hand, the cry of welcome. 
"Here we are, mother! Where's the blessed baby?" 
"Bobby, my dear, I thought you'd never come!" 
"How are the kiddies? Ages since I saw them. . . ." 
"My, but it's good to see you! Folks are 

waiting. . . ." 
"Come right along . . . the car is just outside . . . !" 
Then, while I listened idly as to babbling waters. 
Leaning against the desk where telegrams are written, 
Dimly intending soon to send a message, 
Sounded a voice behind me. . . . "What's the 

trouble? 
"No one to meet you, son? Here ... let me write 
it!" 

Even in rush hours, people may be kindly. 

[94] 



This was the woman operator speaking, 

Reaching a hand to take the soldier's message. 

There, at my elbow, bent above the paper, 

Striving to write with his disabled fingers. . . . 

Yes, it was he . . . the self same, lonely figure. 

Scarcely a lad he looked, yet old and broken. 

"Guess they forgot to come!" He said it bravely, 

Gulping his disappointment down with eyes quite 
merry, 

Even the while their reddened lids betrayed him. 

Snatching the time, as best she could, while others 
waited. 

Taking his story bit by bit, this mother woman 

Struggled to make some sunshine for the soldier. . . . 

He who had lain for many months in pain and dark- 
ness. 

Dreaming and praying for his hour of freedom. 



[95] 



SHE WHO GAVE ALL 

The Pessimist's View 

Asking nothing of life, she went 

On sacrificial errands bent. 

Life gave her naught, for all she spent. 

For all her pity, few there were 

When sorrow came, to comfort her. 

And none brought frankincense or myrrh. 

The Optimist's View 

She needed not their feeble praise 
Whose heart went singing all her days 
In splendid sacrificial ways. 
And she who toiled for others' good. 
Because her spirit understood, 
Saw not their cold ingratitude. 
How could she care, who daily felt 
God's beauty through her being melt? 
How could she know the hurt they dealt? 
[96] 



TO A PAIR OF OLD WALKING SHOES 

(Recalling a Mountain Climb) 

You have outlived the dream, 
You have outlasted all 
Glamour and mist and gleam, 
Flush of a soul in thrall. 
Little I deemed it true — 
Wild was the hour, and glad — 
Oh, could the sight of you 
Summon the joy I had! 

Earth was a fairy globe 

When the crest of the hill was found; 

Life was a shining robe 

Wrapping us gently round. 

Why should the gods descend 

Binding two hearts in one, 

Seeing the shadowy end 

Ere happiness is done? 

[97] 



You have outlived the thrill — 
Your leather and cloth and strings- 
But once when I climbed a hill, 
You fitted my feet with wings! 



[98] 



MEMORIES 

(A Woman to Her Rival) 

Where met we? Where before have I seen your face? 

Was it in Persia, Thrace, or splendid Babylon? 

Were you some idol of the populace, 

A pampered star whose wanton loveliness 

Enthroned you in the mad heart of a king; 

Mounting the stairway of his adoration 

Till with your fragile hand you ruled the nation? 

How crimson were your laughing lips to her 

Whose rightful throne you took .... without a stir 

Of sorrow or compunction! my friend, 

I find in you the olden trace. The snare, 

The tawny treachery that is your hair 

Enslaved him long ago .... I know. 

Yea, we were rivals in the fevered race ; 
One fell behind, the other rode in triumph. 
And who shall perish now and who shall stand? . . . 
Nay, give me not your hand! 

Where met we? Where before have I seen your face? 

[99] 



THE FACE IN THE MIRROR 

(A Woman Speaks to Her Reflected Image) 

You must have some secret knowledge 

That can keep you glad, 

Smiling at my tragedies, 

The hurts that make me sad. 

You must know some happy thing 

Beyond this range of woe, 

That helps your eyes to hold their light. 

Your lips to keep their glow. 

You must guard some certainty 
Of triumphs yet unseen, 
To smile fulfilment back at me 
When life is starved and lean. 
You must know some deeper lore 
Than schools of learning teach. 
From some fountain you must drink 
Beyond the body's reach. 

From a source unknown to earth 
[100] 



Your radiance must spring; 

Not a trace I find in you 

Of any sorry thing. 

Nothing of my sacrifice, 

Nothing of my pain — 

Almost it would seem that sorrow 

Sorroweth in vain! 

I shall trust the thing you say 
Whatever be my lot; 
Grim disasters of the hour 
I accept them not. 
I shall take the hope you give 
Though life itself denies. 
Something tells me it is true. . . 
The secret in your eyes! 



[101] 



"IF THOU HAD'ST FAITH" 

Softly I kept my tryst with Summer at the gate. . . . 
I found a woman gray, austere, who hushed me, bade 

me wait. 
"Nay!" Summer saith. 
"Till thou hast faith. 

Till thou hast summoned all thy dreams again — 
High daring love and hope and trust in men. 
Thou shalt not find again enchanted land." . . . 
Aghast, I gazed at Summer's lifted hand. 

"0 Summer, gladly the olden ways I would explore; 

Gladly go back to the delirious moon 

That beckoned me with each recurring June. 

Gladly, Summer! Make me young again." . . . 

"If thou had'st faith in men" — 

Over again she s^id. 

And shook her head. 

"If thou could'st suffer as of old, and yearn, and 

pray" — 
"Was it her lifted hand that hid the day? 

[102] 



PSYCHO-ANALYSIS 

Shall we psycho-analyse the rose, 
Tell why its color comes and where it goes ; 
Learnedly seek to say how dew reclines 
On honeysuckle vines? 

Shall we psycho-analyse the dawn? 
Show how silver and purple, rose and fawn 
Never bestowed the ecstasy we caught — 
Dupes of our own intoxicated thought? 

Come, moderns! Shall we analyse 
Thrusts of the living soul that ever tries 
Over and over again to strike her spark 
Here in the muddled depths of human dark? 

Search as you may, ponder and probe and plan — 
Never yet have you compassed the range of man. 
Never yet have you touched the mysterious rim — 
Blazing border of light that circles him. 
Shatter the rose, sunder the roots of trees, 
[103] 



Find if you can the soul of the singing breeze, 
Show the lover his vision part by part. . . . 
You cannot kill, thank God, his dreaming heart! 



[104] 



AFTERNOON TEA 

The trees are having afternoon tea 

Out on the amber lawn, 

Each at its long shadow table 

Welcoming guests with the coming of five o'clock. 

They smile and nod and chatter, 

Spreading their skirts most graciously. 

Gesturing gayly with each wafture of the breeze. 

Oh, it is nice to be a tree hostess. 

Presiding over smooth, dark tables 

And lacquered trays carrying doilies of leafy design. 

Such beverage was never brewed by human skill, I fancy! 

Late sunshine, filtered through pine needles 

And poured with a rich intelligence, that every guest may 

drink. 
Beautiful beverage, out of a turquoise bowl 
Painted by hand of an unseen Artist. 

All the little shrubs and grasses are alert, listening; 
Gossip is going on, and there's a flutter of lifted hands. 
Now there's a little hurricane of laughter, 

[105] 



And now — "Good-by, my dear. Do come again — soon!" 
The trees are having afternoon tea out on the amber lawn. 
It is nice to be a tree hostess, 
With nothing to worry about, 
Nothing to spoil or break — 

And Nature standing ready to be waitress whenever the 
mistress calls ! 



[106] 



VIOLIN 



What wounded thing 
With broken wing 
Has touched thy string 
And tuned thy throat? 
What seraph note, 
What star afloat 
Was snared within, 
violin? 

What soul was lent 
Embodiment? 
What fierce lament 
Of rage and fire 
Hath made each wire 
A demon's choir. . . . 

What storm at sea 
Hath shaken thee 
And set me free 
And made me brave? 
[107] 



What shouting wave 
Its music gave? 
thing of wood. . . 
Hast understood! 



[108] 



PERSONALITY 

It is a very subtle and mysterious thing 
And takes no cognizance of earthly branding; 
We may not find it in the crowned king, 
In lords and ladies of imperial standing; 
Yet suddenly some swart and humble face 
May flash the signal of a royal race. 

Judge not, and be not judged ... a goodly plan, 
Seeing how few as yet are ripe for testing; 
Life still is hewing out the perfect man, 
God the Creator worketh on, unresting. . . . 
Oh, 'tis a subtle and amazing thing 
When from a common mask looks forth a king! 



[109] 



THE INARTICULATE 

I visited a studio where ran 
Surge upon surge of marble, greatly wrought. 
Here leaped the struggle of a living man, 
Here was the courage of his spirit caught 
And prisoned for the eyes of men to see. 
I marvelled that this alabaster white 
Could clap such noise of thunder over me; 
Could pour such melody upon my sight. 
Could tell in forks of fire and rains of gold 
What else had been unfashioned and unseen — 

Oh, few may tell their souls as sculptors tell! 
Oh, few may chisel out for human eyes 
The splendors and the mysteries that dwell 
Behind our pallid texture of disguise. 
We see these human masks that come and go — 
These bodies living out their little space — 
Once in a life, perhaps, we catch the glow 
Of God incarnate in a human face. 
Yet all the beauty of the sculptor's throe 

[110] 



And all the agony that artists know 

Lie hidden in the hearts of those we meet 

In common garments on the common street. 



[Ill] 



VII 

THE BUILDERS 



THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER ' 

He is known to the sun-white Majesties 

Who stand at the gates of dawn; 

He is known to the cloud-borne company 

Whose souls but late have gone. 

Like wind-flung stars through lattice bars 

They throng to greet their own, 

With voice of flame they sound his name 

Who died to us unknown. 

He is hailed by the time-crowned brotherhood, 

By the Dauntless of Marathon, 

By Raymond, Godfrey and Lion Heart, 

Whose dreams he carried on. 

His name they call through the heavenly hall, 

Unheard by earthly ear. 

1 This poem was read by the author over the bier of the Unknown 
Soldier on the occasion of the Armistice Week Memorial ceremonies at 
Washington, November 10, 1921. The reading took place in the rotunda 
of the Capitol, where thousands came to pay tribute to the unknown dead. 
The poem was written for the American Pen Women's League, their only 
memorial. 

[115] 



He is claimed by the famed in Arcady 
Who knew no title here. 

Oh faint was the lamp of Sirius 
And dim was the Milky Way. 
Oh far was the floor of Paradise 
From the soil w^here the soldier lay. 
Oh chill and stark was the crimson dark 
Where huddled men lay deep; 
His comrades all denied his call — 
Long had they lain asleep. 

Oh strange how the lamp of Sirius 

Drops low^ to the dazzled eyes: 

Oh strange how the steel-red battlefields 

Are floors of Paradise. 

Oh strange how the ground with never a sound 

Sw^ings open, tier on tier, 

And standing there in the shining air 

Are the friends he cherished here. 

They are known to the sun-shod sentinels 

Who circle the morning's door. 

They are led by a cloud-bright company 

Through paths unseen before. 

Like blossoms blo"v\Ti their souls have flown 

[116] 



Past war and reeking sod. 

In the book unbound their names are found- 

They are known in the courts of God! 



[117] 



EDUCATION 



You are the answer to the times, 
The challenge of this crimson age; 
You are the silencer of rage 
The end of earth's colossal crimes. 

Across the cavern of mischance 

Where groping human minds would reach, 

O'er fearful gulfs of ignorance 

You are the silver bridge of speech. 

You span the silence and the dark 
Of centuries replete with lore, 
Where minds of men may softly hark 
To words of sages gone before. 

You are the swinging crystal gate 
Where Sophocles and Sappho wait; 
Where Pericles and Plato bring 
Their answer to earth's questioning 

[118] 



And Dante with heroic pen 

Bequeaths the sword of Truth to men. 

You are the Heaven-climbing stair 
Builded above the world's despair 
Where souls of men go singing up 
To drink the sacramental cup. 

You are the good men grapple for, 
You shield the song and lift the grail. 
Because of you man shall not fail 
For you are Conqueror of War! 



[119] 



MASTERY 



I claim that man is master who can take 
Life's harsh material, whatever it be, 
And from the fabric of misfortmie make 
A princely garment for the world to see. 
I hold that man is master who can stand 
Rugged amid tlie taunts of malice hurled, 
Saying, ''Behold, the king is in command!" 
Until his name be cleared before the world. 

I hold him great who laughs in hmiger's eye 
The while he keeps his compact with the goal 
Turning his back on Fortune which denies 
The higher quest of his enduring soul. 
I say that man is fortunate who bears 
The challenge and the torture of the test. 
Upon his back a multitude of cares. 
The courage of the gods within his breast. 



[120] 



THE DOER 



My limbs rejoice in the hurdle; 

My thews are strong for the test; 

My muscles thrill 

To the stinging will 

Of the gallant soul's behest. 

My feet are made for the running, 

I leap in the victor's strength; 

Beneath my form 

The pygmies swarm 

When gleams the goal at length. 

I have my hand on the lever; 
I work while the dreamer dreams ; 
My hammer hits 
The while he sits 

Enthralled by the morning beams. 
I give my strength to the building; 
I do what he might have done; 
While he desires, 

[121] 



My temple spires 

Are mounting towards the smi. 

I have my hand on the throttle, 

My eyes on the signals bright 

The speeding track 

Looks never back 

But forward hails the light. 

I have my pulse in the present, 

My hope in the future wide; 

The mountain wall 

Obeys my call 

As through its door I glide. 

Through granite superstition, 

Through fortresses of pride, 

Men hew their way 

To the light of day 

And tunnel ways to ride. 

you who have drawn the pattern. 
And you who have dreamed the plan, 
Whose was the will 

And whose the skill 

That cleared the course for man? 

1 have my hold on the engine, 
The rails rush backward fast, 
Men see my spark 

[122] 



Through the streaming dark 

And heed the Star at last. 

Through creeds built high with terror, 

Through huge embodied hate, 

Man's dauntless mind 

A way will find 

To conquer fear and Fate. 

Give way, gates of darkness! 

Give way, doors of brass! 

Hell's final wall. 

You, too, shall fall 

And let the Doer pass! 



[123] 



SAMSON HAS THE TEMPLE 

This stricken age a falling temple seems, 
Doomed to disaster from our earliest dreams. 
Our hopes are naught, our visions seem as dust, 
Whirled by a judgment august, terrible. 
We hear the timbers crashing overhead. 
The walls drop plaster and we see the dead 
Scattered in sudden silence at our feet. 

Like pictures in a dream, a nightmare train — 
Terror on terror holds our minds aghast. 
Each bitter crime more cruel than the last. 
The rafters tremble, — yea, and they must fall. 
That we may see the Purpose underneath. 
For Truth too long was prostrate on her breast 
Whose treachery betrayed the sleeping guest. 
Till we behold how Love and Justice rise. 
Free as the air, untrammeled as the wind 
Life must destroy the temple, built of lies! 

[124] 



THE SCULPTOR SPEAKS 

Artist God hath a word for His wayward people, 

Artist God hath a word for His blundering race. 

Iron clang and brazen shout of the steeple 

Hush the treble of silver chimes in space, 

Hush and hinder His voice, whose will is hurled, 

Beating fine as rain o'er the noisy world. 

Sculptor God hath speech that must be told; 

Into the heart it falls like driven gold. 

"Aeons of time have they spent in the molding of plaster; 

Aeons of time have they hammered with chisel and clay, 

Shape of the mortal refusing the stamp of the Master, 

Pattern of darkness denying the vision of day. 

Lo, shall they forfeit their models, who wantonly fling me 

Forms out of chaos to fashion again and again, 

So shall they shatter a myriad shapes till they bring me 

Pattern of purity wrought in the sinews of men." 

Sculptor God beholdeth His statues fall 

Over and over again from the shaken wall. 

Sculptor God cries out to an Earth disgraced ; 

[125] 



"How have the wanton hands destroyed my skill! 
How hath the human word my Sign effaced, 
Over the Master's wish the mortal will. 
Where is the deathless Word I gave for token? 
Where have the workmen hidden my proved Design? 
God the Maker beholdeth his model broken — 
These are deception's tragedies, not mine!" 
Artist God looks forth where their treasures lie — 
Flesh and marble and tapestried silk the same! 
Dreams that blossomed sweet as an April Sky, 
Withered hopes that fell from a withered frame. 
"So shall they heap the wreckage pile on pile 
Till my world is free from guile. 
They who have fashioned sod shall reap the sod — 
Dust returneth to dust" saith Sculptor God. 
"So shall their idols shatter again and again 
Till my Image shine forth in men!" 

Sculptor God hath a voice like silver crying; 
Sculptor God hath a word like stinging hail; 
Over the earth I hear His signals flying — 
Keen His call as sound of a piercing gale. 
Sculptor God would issue a new command, 
Steady the will and guide the fumbling hand. 
Sculptor God would utter a stem decree — 
"They who would fashion well must follow me. 
Sore have they failed who wrought with human rules- 

[126] 



Now shall my artists work with the Spirit's tools." 
Sculptor God cries out to His shining sons 
Words He uttered to Buddha, Christ and Paul. 
Long ago He spoke to His favored ones — 
Now the Will of the Sculptor chooseth all. 
"Build me afresh my world immense and clean; 
Build me a temple worthy an artist race. 
Look where the hidden Pattern shines serene, 
Shape me anew my ancient dwelling place." 



[127] 



BEHOLD THE BUILDERS! 

First, the foundation, with its depth of toil, 
Its dogged clamor, lift of earth and stone; 
Its delving deep and deeper into soil 
That Heaven-seeking man shall find his own. 

The olden sacrifice is lived again — 
Death and starvation, should the builder shirk! 
But these are toil-defying gods of men 
And come in cold December dawn to work. 

I start from sleep to hear their voices call; 
Their task a Juggernauth of terror seems; 
The slate-blue morn is stiff upon the wall, 
And thankfully I drop again to dreams. 

All day I watch them from my window pane ; 
I would my sinews held such fibered steel! 
Could I but work as they in sleet and rain. 
My arm such hidden majesty reveal! 

[128] 



With all my seeking after lovely things — 
My fire, my books, my roses in a bowl — 
I wonder if their giant labor brings 
A vaster sense of beauty to the soul? 

I wonder if the moimtain task we shun 
While seeking solace for the troubled mind, 
Would lift our spirit closer to the sun. 
And give to us the strength we could not find? 

Behold the builders ! Greatly do they spend 
And greatly do they take of Titan force. 
They swing to mighty rhythms without end; 
We pray to God — they meet Him at the source! 



[129] 



